Comatose
by Raivis-Latvijas
Summary: Novak never liked the fact that Andelko worked in such a way that was as dangerous as it was unregulated. Even when Novak warned him that he would get hurt severely, the other insisted he would be fine. SerbiaxCroatia.


**A/n: **Today was supposed to be my lazy day, but I couldn't resist writing this.

Enjoy.

**Xxx**

Novak never liked the fact that Andelko worked in such a way that was as dangerous as it was unregulated.

Andelko, Novak's thirty year old husband of two years, was a fighter in an underground fighting league run by a local mob. It was stupid, and yet Andelko kept doing it. He trained and trained, and even when Novak warned him that he would get hurt severely, the Croatian man kept on working towards his goal. To grab the attention of a professional league and start being an actual fighter.

Novak had decided to attend his husband's title match versus the reigning champion, a man who had been pumped full of steroids and used the massive amount of unnatural-looking muscle to beat the life out of his opponent. Andelko, though fit, looked scrawny compared to the champion.

Novak stood next to the worn-down boxing ring, watching as Andelko was shoved into the ring by a man in a trench coat. Obviously the man in the trench coat was one of the members of the mob that ran this chaotic arena.

Andelko was wearing a pair of shorts and had bandages wrapped around his hands. His chest rose and fell with slow breaths; Novak could tell his Croatian husband was nervous.

When the champion made his way into the ring, the crowd gathered erupted into a thunderous roar. Drunkenly, people made bets, more in the champ's favor than Andelko's. A man in a pair of black pants, a white dress shirt, and a black tie stepped in, smoking a cigar. The man was the referee, though there were practically no rules in this league.

"Alright, boys. You know how this works. You fight until we tell you to stop. No groin shots. Anything else is legal. Ready? Go." The ref went through things rather quickly before starting the fight.

Novak stood in the crowd, hardly able to watch what inevitably was going to occur. The Serbian stood out; he was well-groomed and not drunk whatsoever, unlike most of the people in the area. What kind of a spectator wore black jeans, a pair of boots, and a brown sweater to an event like this? One that was worried about his husband in the ring.

Novak watched in horror as the reigning champion grabbed a hold of Andelko's short hair and began striking numerous times with one huge right fist. Andelko made futile attempts to guard and soon found himself on the ground. The Croat scrambled away from the massive man he was facing and got to his feet, shaking off the hits.

The champ went after Andelko again, this time pinning him in a corner by the throat, placing punch after punch to Andelko's ribs and stomach. Novak shook his head, growing increasingly nervous about what was to happen to his husband.

To Novak's horror, the steroid-using champion lifted Andelko off the mat and into the air before slamming him back down. Novak heard Andelko's head smack the unpadded metal underneath the canvas on the mat, and soon found that his Croatian husband was completely unconscious. But no one stopped the fight. The champion rolled Andelko over and began slamming fist after fist to the back of Andelko's head; that's when Novak couldn't take it any longer.

The Serb jumped into the ring, hurrying over and making a futile attempt to get the champ off of his husband. When he received a hard shove away, the ref meagerly walked over and leaned down, looking Novak in the eyes.

"Get out of here, or I'll have you shot." He warned. Novak shook his head, standing once again and using all his might to kick the champion in the head, successfully getting the buff man off of Andelko, who was bleeding profusely from his face and head.

"Alright, alright. The champ stays the champ. Someone get a bodybag and toss this Croat out." The ref said. Novak sat there by his husband, unsure of what to do. With what strength he had, he listed Andelko up carefully and took the limp man out of the rings, and soon out of the building where the event happened.

He laid the limp man on the cold sidewalk then pulled out his cell phone, dialing 911.

"_Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?"_

"M-My husband, h-he's hurt bad. I-I don't know what to do; please send a-an ambulance." Novak stammered, struggling to get the words out of his mouth.

"_What is the address of your emergency?"_

"144 E-East Main; just outside the Vargas' Bar."

"_Paramedics will be arriving there short. Please stay on the line until they arrive. Sir, what is your name?"_

"N-Novak. Novak Novkovic."

"_Where are you from?"_

"Why th-the hell does it matter where I-I'm from?"

"_I'm just trying to keep you from panicking, sir."_

"Panicking? I-I'm already fucking panicking! M-My husband j-just got beat half t-to death by a man raging o-on fucking steroids!"

"_Calm down, sir."_

"Wh-Why the fuck are you telling me t-to calm down? If i-it was the man you loved, you would b-be acting the same way!"

"_Sir, please be calm. Paramedics are on their way, and they will take your husband to the hospital. Just stay calm. Can you tell me; does your husband have a pulse?"_

Novak reached to his husband's blood-covered neck and pressed his finger to it, feeling for a pulse. When he felt it, it gave him only slight relief. Andelko was still completely unconscious and was bleeding profusely.

"H-He has a pulse." Novak told the 911 operator. The operator continued to ask him menial questions to keep him calm until paramedics arrived. After a few minutes, the sirens were heard and the ambulance pulled up, placing Andelko on a stretcher and into a neck brace.

Novak sat on the ground, hands and shirt covered in his husband's blood. He couldn't believe that had really happened; that Andelko had been beaten so mercilessly.

"Sir, are you hurt in any way?" One of the paramedics asked Novak, who merely shook his head.

"Come in the ambulance then. We'll take you and your husband to the hospital. We promise we'll do all we can to help him." The other man said, offering his hand to help Novak up. Novak grasped his hand and lifted himself to his feet, following the paramedic to the ambulance. He sat in a seat at the side of the ambulance, watching as the paramedics made attempts to stop Andelko's profuse bleeding and keep him alive.

Upon arriving at the hospital, Novak was ushered to a waiting room while Andelko was taken to the ER in critical condition. The Serb sat in a chair and let out a shaky sigh, burying his face in his hands. He wasn't crying; not yet. He kept telling himself that Andelko would be okay, and that nothing would go wrong, but every time he opened his eyes, he saw the stains of red on his hands and on the sleeved of his shirt.

He wished that each time he opened his eyes he would not see the blood on his hands, but instead awaken from a terrible dream. But this was all too real. He knew this was in fact reality, and that Andelko had been hurt very badly.

He spent what felt like years in the waiting room. When a doctor finally came out and approached him, he expected the worst.

"You are the husband of Mr. Begovich-Novkovic, correct?" The scrub-clad man asked. Novak nodded.

"I am…" He responded quietly.

"Your husband is alive, but is in critical condition in the ICU… He is in a coma from his injuries. We are unsure how long he will be in this condition. Would you like to see him?" The doctor questioned. Novak stood from his chair, nodding his head slightly.

The doctor led him through many white hallways to the ICU, and soon Novak found himself in Andelko's room. The amount of machines Andelko was hooked up to sickened him; there was a machine assisting Andelko's breathing, along with a few others monitoring what Novak assumed was his heart rate and a few other medical things. Novak was no doctor; he didn't know what half of these things were.

He approached his husband slowly, pulling up a nearby chair and sitting down at the left side of the bed. He gently reached up to Andelko's left hand and held it. His hands used to be soft, but over the course of Andelko's fighting, they had grown callused and rough.

Seeing Andelko in this condition finally broke Novak. Unrestrained tears finally fell from his emerald eyes and he sobbed quietly. Andelko was in a coma. From what Novak knew, many never came out of it. He hoped that Andelko did, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Andelko would never awaken.

A month passed before Andelko showed any signs of regaining consciousness. The Croat's brown eyes were open, and they looked around slowly in confusion. Novak had been there to see the man open his eyes, as had the Croat's cousin Pavla.

"A-Andelko? Can you hear me?" Novak asked. Andelko's eyes shifted towards him in response. The Croat blinked a bit before his eyes closed once again, not to reopen for another few hours.

Every time Andelko showed improvement, it made Novak incredibly happy. By the middle of the second month, the doctors had taken Andelko off of his breathing machine. Andelko could breathe on his own finally.

Slowly, muscle movement came back to Andelko. He could move his arms and legs upon his own free will. When the Croat reached over for the first time and grasped Novak's hand very lightly, Novak couldn't help but grin. It seemed now each day Andelko was showing some sign of improvement. Doctors were calling it a miracle that he had even woken up in the first place, but it didn't matter to Novak. Andelko was coming out of his coma with time.

At the end of the third month, Andelko was finally up and moving on his own with the help of a walker. Still dizzied occasionally, Novak helped him out the best he could and was always by his side to give him support.

The one thing that Novak missed the most that Andelko hadn't been able to do yet, was speak. He missed the sound of the Croatian's voice so much. Sure, Novak was incredibly happy that Andelko was up and moving and could actually show some facial expressions, but to not have heard the Croat's voice in so long was saddening him.

Around the middle of the third month of Andelko's recovery, the doctors allowed him to go home with Novak. Though he still couldn't speak, Novak could tell that Andelko was pleased to finally be out of a hospital room.

Upon arriving home, Novak helped his husband up the porch stairs and through to front door, making sure the Croatian didn't fall. He led the other man over to the coach, where Andelko sat down. He let out a breath and then reached out to Novak, beckoning him to sit down as well. Novak sat down next to his only slightly-comatose husband, who pulled him into a soft hug. Novak grinned, feeling tears well up in his eyes and blur his sight. Affection, finally. Andelko was able to show him affection.

When Andelko let go of him, Novak's tears were obvious to the Croat. Andelko reached up with one hand and silently brushed away the tears from his Serbian husband's cheeks.

The next few weeks went by, and still not a word came from Andelko's mouth. He had relearned how to write though, and was now able to communicate with Novak through writing. Novak spoke of course; Andelko had told him on paper that he preferred to hear Novak's voice than see his writing.

Andelko often wrote down his deepest apologies for not listening to Novak when he should have. Novak merely gave him a sad smile.

"You were stubborn… There was no stopping you from attempting to get what you wanted." He said.

'_But I should have listened before it was too late. Now I'm stuck in this condition; I can't even talk to you. It kills me to know how much you want to hear my voice and I can't do anything about it. I don't know how long it'll take me to regain the ability to talk, if I ever do.' _Andelko wrote, handing his journal to Novak so that he could read it. Andelko's handwriting, though improving as he practiced, was sometimes difficult to read.

"Don't think like that, Andelko… It just takes time; you'll be able to talk soon, I'm sure." Novak lied. He wasn't sure if Andelko would talk again. No one was.

After another month of silence and communicating through what must have been hundreds of journals, Novak finally got his wish. Words out of Andelko's mouth. The voice he had longed to hear for nearly five months.

"… N… Novak." Andelko muttered, his voice slow and hardly audible. Novak looked to the Croat who was sitting at the kitchen table.

"Did… Did you just say something, Andelko?" He asked. Andelko's lips moved as if he were trying to speak yet again.

"… Novak… I… I love… you…" The words, though separated and quiet, were more than enough to make Novak grin.

"A-Andelko, I love you too… G-God, you're talking…" The Serb stammered, approaching the Croatian, who stood and embraced his husband in a tight hug. The Croatian's muscles had regained quite a bit of strength, and he was able to move around without needing much support. On some days he used a cane, but on most he went without.

Tears came from Novak's eyes for what seemed like the thousandth time. Andelko reached up and wiped them away like he always did.

"… Don… Don't cry…" He said. Novak tried to hold the tears back, but couldn't help it. Andelko was finally talking. Finally. Five long months of recovery had given Andelko the ability to talk once again.

The two conversed in minor chats, trying to get Andelko used to talking, and able to say more than just a few words.

Slowly but surely, Andelko was able to converse at a semi-regular pace, with longer sentences. The Croatian could laugh as well, something he hadn't done in a long time. Novak enjoyed every word that came from his husband's mouth; it was a sign that Andelko was finally returning back to normal.

After a year since the fight that nearly killed Andelko, he was able to do everything he once had. He had promised Novak though, that he would never return to fighting ever again. It delighted Novak to know that Andelko had given up such a brutal lifestyle.

Every day Novak returned home from his job as your average office worker, he would be greeted by Andelko at the door. The Croat would wrap his arms around Novak tightly and give him a chaste kiss or two, then let him be on his way to do whatever.

Andelko eventually got a job as a high school physical education teacher, going back to what he had done prior to his dreams of being a fighter. One Friday, Novak stopped by the school gymnasium to visit his husband at work.

While the students were playing a game of dodgeball, he approached the Croatian with a smile.

"I can remember when I was in high school… Good times." He said, standing next to his husband. Andelko chuckled.

"Yeah… How's your day been, Novak?" He asked the Serbian man.

"It's been decent. Work was slow, but whatever." Novak responded. Andelko nodded slightly before kicking a stray ball back onto the gym floor.

"You know, I can remember when I couldn't even move my feet. Now look at me… I'm back to normal." Andelko mused. Novak smiled.

"It's a great thing… I waited so long for you to recover; I just kept hoping and hoping… I'm so glad that you're back to being normal."

"Mhm… Hey Novak, do you remember the first words I said to you when I started to talk again?"

"I'll never forget them. You told me you loved me."

"And I still do." Without much of a warning, Andelko pulled Novak into a kiss. When they separated, Novak chuckled.

"I'll see you at home, Andy. Don't work too hard, alright?" He said. Andelko nodded.

"See you at home, Novak."

Novak smiled and exited the gym, heading to his car and getting in. On the way home, he remembered everything about Andelko's coma, from the day he got hurt, to the day he finally seemed like a normal person.

It had taken so long; it seemed, for Andelko to recover fully. Those first few months had been incredibly hard for Novak. He had seen Andelko hooked up to numerous machines and had seen the man unconscious for so long. When Andelko had started improving, bit by bit, Novak's hopes rose. When Andelko spoke to him, and kept speaking, he knew everything was going to be alright.

Doctors had called it a miracle that Andelko's memory hadn't been affected by his injuries. The Croat still knew everything he had known prior to his coma. He hadn't forgotten the Croatian language, he hadn't forgotten any of his studies from the past, and he hadn't forgotten anything about his relationship with Novak.

Andelko had told Novak that he had learned to love life more, and that some risks weren't worth taking. He had learned from his mistakes in that fighting league, and he had been forgiven by Novak for not listening when he should have.

The vows they had said when they had gotten married were truer than ever. Through anything they were together; Andelko loved to thank Novak for staying with him through such a struggle as they had gone through. When Andelko had relearned how to write, he often wrote down his thanks to the Serb.

The two had kept all of the journals Andelko had written in as sort of chronicles to Andelko's struggle and eventual recovery. Novak read through some of them when he felt like reminiscing in memories of their conversations, but they often just sat on the shelf in their bedroom and collected dust; staying always a silent reminder of what happened.

Though there were still scars upon Andelko's head and face, and the man's ears had been damaged in the fights, he was basically the same man Novak had fallen in love with.

Novak would never fall out of that love; if the near-death and coma of his husband didn't kill that love, than nothing would.


End file.
